Someone was bound to love me
at some point, i’m unavoidably magnetic.
I don’t regret it, the fall quicker than i could
catch my pulse to measure, running away with me.
Wind knocked out and a cork to stop my lungs:
wine soaked and lush with those berry hints.
If love were a poem it’d be red
with matter-of-fact similarity to Merlot,
or Blood. Which will it be and can you
tell the difference. If you cut me open you could
drink, to celebrate the days we’ve spent aware that
the other is breathing. Beautifully weaving
a life alongside a stranger (the way you were) ;
little fingers tied like a three legged race.
You see those fingertips edged with capability,
i want them in me. Win me with your thumb against
the back of my teeth. I’ll make my bed, plumped with
the victories won in the name of what is right
and my back moulded to perfect company,
your arm underneath.